Квентин Тарантино - Once Upon a Time in Hollywood - The First Novel By Quentin Tarantino

Like the Beatles. Like Jesus Christ. Like Charlie.

He didn’t want fame for himself; he wanted fame for what his music would mean to others. But the music would simply be an entry point for the planet earth to get to know Charlie. With God working through him, Charlie would write some of the greatest music ever written, the way Jesus Christ wrote some of the greatest poetry ever written. Not to have framed platinum albums on his walls, like Dennis Wilson. Not to own sports cars, like Dennis Wilson. Not to be on the cover of Crawdaddy magazine. Not to have a song on the Easy Rider soundtrack . Not to join the Real Don Steele in crazy promotional contests on KHJ. But to save all mankind.

Their first glimpse that Charlie’s motives and desires may have been less pure than their own was when he couldn’t help but reveal his anxiety over the Terry Melcher audition.

Everybody wanted everything to go well, but nobody else at the ranch thought everything was riding on it.

It goes … it doesn’t go. Don’t sweat it, baby. What’s supposed to happen will happen. Men plan, God laughs. That’s what Charlie taught them.

So then why was Charlie stressing out so much about what Terry Melcher thought of him?

Why was Charlie freaking fucking out about whether or not Terry Melcher liked his music or had a good time?

Why was Charlie flipping fucking out trying to make a good impression on Terry “Fucking” Melcher?

But as Terry Melcher’s three-thirty appointment turned to three-forty, then three-fifty, then four o’clock, then four-ten, then four-twenty, then four-thirty, and it became apparent to all that Terry Melcher wasn’t going to show, it became apparent to all how badly Charlie felt. Terry’s no-show made Manson look weak in front of his kids. Nothing that took place in front of “the Family” ever made Charlie look weak. Not irate parents, sometimes carrying shotguns; not former members, who sometimes came back to the ranch accompanied by friends demanding money, cars, or babies. Not the Black Panthers. Not even the pigs. Charlie faced them all down with a wink and a smile. Secure in the knowledge that God was on his side. But not this time. This time it was Charlie who looked foolish. Something else that day also became apparent, something the kids at Spahn Ranch had never considered before. Maybe Charlie was just another long-haired hippie with a guitar, trying to get on the radio. They couldn’t believe it and they wouldn’t believe it. But for the first time, it occurred to some of them.

Somehow, Melcher got word to Charlie that he didn’t stand him up out of disrespect. He’s a busy man and something important came up. But that was a little while ago. Since then, there’s been no effort made to reschedule. And now Charlie and Terry don’t run in the same circles. The idea of just bumping into him and setting up another time for another audition doesn’t seem likely.

In a way, Charlie was getting a good education in what the entertainment business is like. People fall in and out of social circles. Somebody you seriously hung with yesterday rates no more than a wave today. Promising opportunities just don’t pan out. Or as Pauline Kael once wrote: “In Hollywood, you could die of encouragement.”

Well, since Mohammed wasn’t going to just bump into the mountain at the Whisky a Go Go, drinking Cutty Sark, Mohammed would have to go to the mountain, or in this case the Hollywood Hills.

This is Charlie’s last card.

Since he’s been to Terry Melcher’s house before, he remembers where he lives. He’s even partied there. So him just popping up at his gate to say hi, while bad form, isn’t completely out of the question.

This is a desperate move, and it feels like a desperate move. And Charlie is pretty fucking sure Terry will read it as a desperate move. But the way things are, it’s the only move he has left. Terry had said he’d listen to Charlie’s music one day. And Terry did owe him after standing him up before. And Charlie isn’t going to just bump into him at Wilson’s pad anymore. The only chance Charlie has of rescuing this lost opportunity is lucking out and catching Terry at home and putting the bite on him. A soft bite. Just enough to make him feel too guilty to say no to Charlie’s face. But without the bite, Charlie’s never gonna see Terry again. And when this doesn’t work, which it probably won’t, at least Charlie can say he tried.

When Charlie pulls up to the front of Terry’s house on Cielo Drive, he sees the gate is open. These people leave their gates open most days they have a lot of deliveries, so they don’t have to keep running to the intercom to buzz people in. Charlie had thought he’d get the brush-off at the call-box speaker located on the metal pole next to the driveway, outside the front gate.

Hi, is Terry there?

Who’s asking?

It’s his friend Charlie.

Charlie who?

Charlie Manson.

He ain’t here.

That’s how Charlie imagined the conversation would go, even if it was Terry at the intercom, pretending to be somebody who worked for him. So the gate being open counts as a stroke of luck. Some say luck is when preparation meets opportunity. The preparation part is picking Saturday late morning/early afternoon to pay his visit. If he’s going to catch Terry bopping around his house, it’s going to be Saturday late morning/early afternoon. Who knows, he might get a face-to-face with the man yet.

He considers driving the Twinkie truck up the long curvy driveway, but that’s way too bold. Better to be humble. Approach the house on foot, with open palms and a big smile.

Leave a soft footprint.

Charlie climbs out of the bakery truck. Terry lives on top of a hill at the end of a cul-de-sac. The only other human being in sight is a blond guy with his shirt off, working on an antenna on the roof of the house next door. Charlie pays him no mind as he walks up the driveway toward Terry’s front door.

Sharon places the phonograph needle on the first track of the Paul Revere and the Raiders’ album The Spirit of ’67 . The creator of the band and the producer of the album used to rent the house on Cielo Drive that Sharon and Roman are now renting from the owner, Rudi Altobelli, who lives in the guesthouse out back by the swimming pool. When the former tenant, Terry Melcher, moved out, he was living with the actress Candice Bergen. But before Candy moved in, Terry shared the pad with Raiders lead singer Mark Lindsay. So it makes sense Sharon found a whole stack of cellophane-covered copies of The Spirit of ’67 tucked away in the guest room closet. She mentioned finding the records to her husband, Roman, who made a face and said, “I hate that bubble-gum garbage.”

Sharon didn’t argue, but she didn’t agree either. She liked the bubble-gum hits she heard on KHJ. She liked that song Yummy Yummy Yummy and the follow-up song by the same group, Chewy Chewy . She liked Bobby Sherman and that Julie song. She loved that Snoopy vs. the Red Baron song.

She wouldn’t tell this to Roman or any of their hip friends like John and Michelle Phillips or Cass Elliot or Warren Beatty, but to be completely honest, she liked the Monkees more than the Beatles .

She knows they’re not even a real group. They’re just a TV show made to capitalize on the popularity of the Beatles . Nevertheless, in her heart of hearts, she prefers them. She thinks Davy Jones is cuter than Paul McCartney (as evidenced by her attraction to Roman and Jay, Sharon does have a thing for cute short guys who look like twelve-year-old boys). She thinks Micky Dolenz is funnier than Ringo Starr. She’s more attracted to Mike Nesmith’s “quiet one” than to George Harrison. And Peter Tork seems just as much of a hippie as John Lennon but less pretentious and probably a nicer fellow. Yeah, sure, the Beatles write all their own music, but what the fuck does Sharon care about that?